


A Friday by Chance

by The_Inedible_Croissant



Category: Death Note
Genre: Humor, M/M, Slash, Yaoi, lawlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4593009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Inedible_Croissant/pseuds/The_Inedible_Croissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just another boring day at school for Light, but things quickly change when he bumps into a student that happens to catch his eye, one who will change his life forever. Events are quick to escalate into places neither of them ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Light walked down the hall, his arms filled with an assortment of heavy textbooks with covers of varying colors. He grumbled to himself. Who gave them the right to assign _this_ much homework right before the long weekend? He felt like just tossing the stack of yellowing paper into the trash where it belonged. It wasn't like he was ever going to use any of the information he was being forced to cram into his skull anyway. Why even bother?

He threw an angry glance at the group of would-be-dropouts that cluttered around his locker like a swarm of garbage-dwelling bees. They were dishevelled, and looked as if they hadn't bathed in weeks. They smelt that way, too. That, and of the marijuana fumes that must have become permanently fused with their clothes by now.

The first looked up at him, and then so did the others. One by one, like a slow-processing hive-mind, they matched his acrid expression.

“Can we help you?” the first _thing_ said in a nasal drawl that sounded like the voice one would make while mocking someone they hated.

“ _Move,_ ” Light sneered.

With a series of glares, the herd of morons passed on to infest some other corner of the school.

He stood in front of his locker, and groaned, feeling stupid as he looked from the lock to the pile of books. How was he going to–?

Something smacked into him at full force. Light was thrown into the lockers and his books flew from his arms. His head bashed into the thin metal, a loud hollow sound resounding from the impact.

Fiercely rubbing his aching head, Light stared down at the student who had dared to crash into him, foul remarks preparing to come out. The student looked up at him and Light froze. He found himself staring at the dankest human being he had ever laid eyes upon.

Those mysterious, dark eyes encircled by what appeared to be two perfect rings of coffee grounds smeared into the flesh as haphazard make-up. And that absolutely-to- _d_ _ie_ -for mop of a haircut. It was readily apparent that it had been neatly washed in dirty dish water from that cloying soapy smell that lingered in his face-bound nasal pits he sensed the stifled air with. Words nearly failed him.

He was beauty in the flesh.

"So sorry," the boy hastily sputtered, reaching down to pick up Light's scattered books from the floor with his lanky, spider-monkey-like arms. “I-I should really watch where I'm going...”

A name. He needed a name.

The fellow humanoid that existed in a near region of space-time held out the books, and Light wordlessly accepted them with his hands. He breathlessly exchanged a nervous glance with the flighty stranger, who seemed eager to cease existence within his vicinity.

“Sorry,” he repeated, turning as if to run away.

Something screamed in his mind, and Light deftly seized his wrist. “Wait!” he screeched like a flaming vulture. The boy stared up at him, eyes wide in fear.

“Your name,” Light said, evening his tone like smooth jelly on toast. “I never got your name.”

“O-oh...” the boy squeaked, his expression calming. “Please, call me Ryuzaki.”

“Hello, Ryuzaki,” Light echoed, liking the feel of the name on his lips, like sweet, sweet bee syrup on his sticky fingers. “You can call me Light.”

“Hey, Light,” Ryuzaki said. “Why don't we...take this conversation elsewhere?”

Light's eyes widened. Was he serious? Was this tiny, dank man serious? But Ryuzaki placed his hand on Light's shoulder and tugged, his lips suddenly pulled into a freakishly-wide grin.

“Light.” His tone was almost musical. “I know a place, Light.” He continued pulling on his sleeve.

“Okay, okay!” Light said. “Let's go then.”

Ryuzaki dragged him to a nearby door, which Light recognized as the janitor's closet.

“In here!” Ryuzaki proclaimed as he threw open the door. A heap of cleaning supplies falling out greeted them. He frowned.

“This isn't exactly like in the...” he began muttering to himself as he shoved the clutter back in and shoved the door closed. He cleared his throat and placed his hand firmly on the handle again.

“Like I was saying,” he began, “IN HERE!” He threw the door open again, and the room was mysteriously empty. Light gazed in amazement. Everything had vanished from continuity, just like his books had. He looked over at Ryuzaki and was given an expecting look.

“Go on,” Ryuzaki urged.

Light went in, and Ryuzaki followed, slamming the door. He pulled out a lighter, casting a dim light over the room. “You know Light, you look stunning from this angle.”

Light gave him a funny look. If Ryuzaki noticed, he didn't show it, instead leaning in far closer than was socially acceptable. But strangely, Light didn't care.

The situation was so hackneyed, so contrived. So cliche. Yet, Light found himself giving in to his urges.

Ryuzaki's tongue slithered out of his mouth like a snake, softly caressing his face like a sensual slug. His hand seized Light's, and he moved it to his pants. Light could feel the tent contained within Ryuzaki's pants, and it grew...

No, wait, that wasn't–

His eyes snapped open.

_It was his hands._

Light  wrenched  his hand  back, staring at them in horror.

And his hands grew. They grew and grew, until they were almost comically oversized, like he could fit an entire basketball in his palm. They were calloused and rough as if he suddenly had a lifetime of being an unlikable asshole with a vague backstory behind him. His eyes widened. He knew what this was.

His hands – they were _yaoi hands_.

Light felt something in him sink, like a fat man lost at sea.

“I knew it!” Ryuzaki suddenly yelled, his eyes intensely focused on Light's hands as if they held all the world's secrets.

His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was different. No longer was it upbeat and high like an annoying tiny dog, but low and gravelly, like sandpaper on his fabulous eardrums. “You _are_ Kira.”

No. _No_. It couldn't be right? This was...?

“That's right, _Light,_ ” Ryuzaki hissed, “I am L.”

“No... That's not possible!” Light screeched like a tiny owl.

“I'm placing you under arrest,” L announced, pulling some handcuffs right out of his ass.

Ryuk appeared from the wall, grinning madly. “Well Light, looks like this is the end. Not waiting around for yo ass to die.” He took out his Death Note. “I've got shinigami shit to do.”

Light stared in horror at his massive yaoi hands as Ryuk scribbled his name in the book.

“At least...” Light coughed dramatically, “I'll die dank.”

Then he died.

L smiled sadly.

The world was safe for another day.

But at what cost?

“If only there had been another way, my friend...”


	2. Chapter 2

Groaning loudly, Light's eyes slowly peeled open. Where was he? What had happened? It was cold and damp, and everything was so dark.

Then everything that had happened came rushing back. He was...dead? But no, that couldn't be right. As if to answer his question, he inhaled sharply. The air was musty and it left a foul taste in his mouth. If he had to breath, he had to be alive. Yes, he had to be; he could still feel his limbs. But how?

He stretched out his arms into the darkness, but didn't get far. Barely above his chest, his hands came into contact with a surface. It was soft, velvety. A growing sense of dread overcame him as the realization hit.

A coffin.

Of course. He had _died._ Or had done so apparently, at least. Was he buried? He banged on the roof that enclosed him. Was this his punishment for using the Death Note? Was he doomed to suffocate in some sort of cruel–

The lid of the coffin gave way and swung open at his second attempt.

Oh...

Well, how anticlimactic.

Light looked around. He was in the morgue. The room was still quite dark and it stank like a bag of rotting assholes. But at least he wasn't buried six feet under.

He dusted himself off, trying in vain to rid himself of the dichotomous scent that was somehow simultaneously new car _and_ musty-ass basement. Truly this was a mystery he would continue to ponder long into his golden years.

After wandering around, he eventually found his way out. No small feat considering every room looked exactly the fucking same. There didn't seem to be anyone at the front desk, so he just kind of left, thankful he didn't have to explain to anyone what he was doing coming out of the morgue. There were no implications to be formed from that situation that were pleasant in any way, shape, or form.

Light sighed with relief as he stepped outside, taking in the crisp evening air. There didn't seem to be anyone around here, either.

How incredibly convenient.

His mind was still reeling from this entire conundrum. It didn't particularly matter why or how – in the end, only one thing really did matter: he was alive. He was not yet defeated. He had a second chance, and he wasn't about to squander it. This time, he would defeat L. His objectives were simple, laid out so very plainly for him to see: he must defeat L, and then he would become god of the new world. Simple in concept maybe, but perhaps not so simple in execution.

Light frowned and leant against the wall, tapping a finger to his temple as the gears of his mind worked.

L knew who he was and that he was Kira. This was a problem that he had no way to fix. Yet, this also meant that he himself now also knew the identity of L. Finally, his opponent had a face.

But he had did have one advantage: L and the others now thought him dead. They would never expect Kira to suddenly rise up from the grave like a dank zombie. He just had to be careful not to fuck it up this time. That meant he couldn't just go home to get his Death Note – he would blow his cover and he didn't really have any earthly way to explain this to his family. Not that he ever would anyway.

He looked down at his hands. His left hand had returned to normal, but his right remained as large and comical as ever. It looked as if it had been the site of a massive bee-sting orgy, but it didn't hurt. He turned it around in the light, examining it closely. He flexed his fingers; he was sure he could probably pick up an entire watermelon with simply this hand by now. It was strange – why had only this limb remained a yaoi-hand?

Attempting to shove the misshapen hand into his horribly tiny coat pocket, Light whipped out the spare cell phone he kept clenched firmly between his butt cheeks. He had been right to keep it there – it hadn't been found. He was suddenly intensely thankful for whatever force had spared his left hand of its yaoi-dom as he punched the buttons with his wonderful, normal-sized fingers. It was a task that would have been impossible with a pair of those hulking lobster claws.

He held the phone up to his ear and waited.

The line hadn't even gotten to the second ring when the recipient picked up. Light had just managed to forcibly cram his yaoi-hand down into the pocket, thanks in part to him shredding open the entire bottom half. It was a half-coat now.

“Light!?” came Misa's voice in shrill shock.

“Shuddap and listen!” Light hissed into the phone. “Listen Misa, I need you to–” There was a static garble and then dead air. “Misa? Are you there?”

“Light!”

The sound was muffled and he glared at his phone, hitting it against the back of his massive palm in frustration.

A loud, cacophonous scraping wrenched his attention away. Light whipped around.

Misa sprang up out of a nearby manhole like the morning wood that greeted him at dawn, furiously dusting herself off. She kicked the grate back into place, and the horrendous sound tore at his ears again.

“Misa, what are you–?”

She dashed up to him, fervently sputtering, “Oh Light, I knew you weren't dead, I just knew it!” She came up to him, pushing something into his hands as she leaned into an awkward embrace. “When I saw your number on the display, I just knew.”

Light looked down to see that it was her Death Note she had shoved into his hands. He grinned. Sewage had never smelt so good. Truly it was a magical occasion that he would now forever equate the stench with victory.

“I told you I would be useful,” Misa continued. “Now we can go and kill L.”

“Looking for someone?”

They both froze and looked up.

L was there standing before them.

Light's brows furrowed, but his lips curled into a wicked smirk. “So nice of you to save us the trouble, _L_.”

L simply chuckled, and reached back. He pulled out a sniper rifle. He pulled it right out of his ass. It wasn't an asshole, it was a plothole. He pointed the logic-defying weapon right at Light, somehow holding it with only one hand, of course. Because fuck you, that's why.

Light cringed at how horribly contorted L's fingers were to hold the gun in such a fashion. Like come on, the rifle wasn't even the right size; it was like he was carrying some kind of rocket launcher or some crap. His fingers were like going to break off or something.

Misa gasped. “Light, it's L Lawliet!” she said. “His name is L Lawliet!”

Light's face scrunched up as he looked at L, feeling a tinge of something that was almost close to pity. His name was actually L? What kind of fucking idiot named their kid a one-letter word? What kind of equally stupid country would actually allow it? Screw pity, this was disgust.

His hand scrambled for the Death Note.

“Sorry, I can't let you do that,” L said, his creepy, contorted finger locking down on the trigger. The sniper rifle had a silencer shoved onto its bulbous barrel, so the bullet made absolutely no sound whatsoever. 'Cause that's totally how it works.

Light's eyes widened, his breath seizing.

“Light, no!” Misa yelled, shoving him out of the way.

Light smacked into the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs. Misa hit down across from him with a huff. The totally-not-loud bullet whizzed over their heads.

L coiled the mass of non-euclidean gun-matter down towards the pair.

Misa hardened. She suddenly dashed at L, her face contorted in anger. She began to twitch, soon breaking into violent spasms. She leapt. L twisted around in surprise, watching her with an expression somewhere between horrified and bewildered amazement. Misa continued to shake in the air, curling in on herself to form a tight ball. A hard, terracotta shell rapidly rose up over her skin, her blonde locks flattening out into dried, leafy fronds.

L shrieked as the flowerpot smashed over his head. The clay pottery parted down the sides in large triangular shards, the soil thoroughly embedding itself into his hair to sensually massage his scalp. The shards clattered loudly as L hit the ground in a heap, the so-called sniper rifle clattering out from the grip of his freak-fingers. The shrivelled-up geranium that had just been freed sat atop the mound of dirt, the blackened petals thrashing wildly in the wind as if to claim victory over its fallen foe.

Light sauntered up to L, looming over him in triumph.

He grinned. “Looks like I win, L...”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Placing his foot on top of the dazed L, Light looked intently at his watch. _Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine..._

His eyes went wide. L continued to twitch.

“What the hell!” Light screeched. He stomped his foot down on L's chest, who violently choked. “Why aren't you dead!?” He lifted his foot up for another stomp, but L snatched it by the ankle mid-step.

His head slowly curled around, and he opened his eyes, staring blankly up at Light. “Don't think you're the only one...” L whispered vaguely.

Hissing in shock, Light yanked his leg free from L's grasp and leapt away. He glared at L as he got to his feet and took his sweet time dusting off.

Eventually, L looked up and stared directly at Light. His eyes were big and wide, gaze almost sweet, and his lips pulled into an eerie grin. Slowly, he lifted up an arm and curled out his hand, waving his freak-fingers. Then, he pointed his long index finger at Light's pocketed sausage-hand.

Light softly gasped; even though they were a different sort of abomination, L's hands were yaoi too. He stepped back in horror, head slowly shaking in denial. It wasn't so much that he was in shock that L possessed the same powers, it was more that he was just plain freaked out by L's creepy-ass hands. Like seriously, his fucking finger was like thirteen inches long. He could have shoved it up his nose and given himself a frontal lobotomy with that damn thing.

“We end it here!” L exclaimed, rushing forward.

But Light was ready for him. He jumped back as L lunged, and promptly bitch-slapped him with his free hand as he desperately tried to remove the yaoi-hand from his destroyed-yet-still-cramped pocket. L staggered away, holding the side of his face.

Light's hand continued to tingle from the contact, and he looked down at it. The feeling intensified, and his hand began to grow again, the texture immediately growing calloused and grizzled. Then he understood: this strange power fed upon the gay-energy released by their actions. It was like some sort of yaoi-vampire.

His hands were large, calloused, powerful; they were the hands of some douchebag seme. So that must have meant that L's dainty-yet-horrifying spiders he called hands contained the power of the uke. Yes, of course. With both at once, he would be unstoppable.

And if he were the seme, that meant he could undo that which was caused by the uke, diametrically opposed as they were – a shittily drawn magnet, if you will.

Using his power, Light reached out for the continuity. He felt the shy ukeness that L had left, and grasped at it, letting his seme boldness flow into it. He felt it fall back into the plot, and in his hands he gripped the mops back from the janitor's closet that L had mysteriously spirited away. His eyes narrowed.

Gripping the douchiest of the mops tightly, he charged at L, bellowing a war-cry.

L deftly rolled out of the way as the end of the mop stabbed down into the ground next to him. He leapt up, lunging at Light once more.

Light swung, but L ducked just in time, the mop sailing over his head. It left him exposed, and that was the only opening L needed. He sharply jerked forward.

Light screamed as L's pointy anime chin sunk into his stomach, pain lancing through him as if he had used shampoo for lube.

Clenching his teeth, Light jabbed his attacker in the back of the head with his equally-pointy elbow, sending L crashing to the ground once more.

But L scrambled away before he even had the chance to attempt an attack. L sprang to his feet, now clutching a mop of his own.

They stared each other down.

L merely held out a horrifying hand and beckoned Light with a flick of his crochet-needle of a finger.

Light dashed forward and their mops clashed with a resounding crack. Drops of dirty-ass floor-water spattered over the pair, the slick wood of the grips sliding against each other.

L suddenly leapt back, masterfully manipulating the mop with his creepy digits in preparation of some sort of attack.

Light swished his forward, the stringy end casting a spray of foul-smelling floor-water over at L. It splashed him in the face and L yelped, dropping the mop, hands groping for his eyes.

Light's expression hardened, and he ran. He lunged with arm extended, his sweaty, yaoied fingers unfurled, forming a monstrous, looming shadow looking to all to be the claws of a demon.

L grunted as Light crashed into him, seizing him by the shirt. “I will have your power!” Light yelled. “I must feed on the gay!” Using his thumb and index finger, he reached up and tweaked L's hella-kawaii ukefied nipple.

L made a noise like a cat trying to vomit up a hairball at the tweaking of his fine-ass man-titty, and at once Light's hand began to inflate like a balloon. It expanded faster than a dong as its yaoi powers increased, soon becoming as large as L's entire torso. It was like it was sucking the uke right out of him. Indeed, by the second, L was losing his bishounen good-looks, rapidly becoming little more than a generic anime background character.

Grinning madly, Light snatched up L with his massive fist and began to squeeze.

“You'll...never win,” L managed to choke out.

“But L, I've _already_ won,” Light countered.

“You'll never...” L wheezed weakly, then he went limp.

Light dropped the now positively un-kawaii husk of L to the ground, his body now little more than a twig. At best, he would be an extra that appeared in one frame of a filler episode for some crappy never-ending anime. But he was a dub-only edit. And the dub was done by 4-Kids.

Laughing, Light stretched out his arms, as if proclaiming to all the world his new-found power. With the combined powers of both the chosen seme and the chosen uke at once, he now had the ultimate yaoi-hands. He was unstoppable.

His hands were absolutely massive. He could scratch his head using his thumbs while simultaneously poking the ground with his pinkies. With a heavy flap of his arms, he took off into the air, the very winds giving way to his new abilities.

He took perch upon the apex of a nearby building, surveying out over the world. The sun was just starting to rise, casting a fiery glow over the rooftops.

Light let out a long, raucous laugh. He had done it. He had conquered L, his arch enemy. He had won. The world was now his to do with as he pleased.

But why stop there?

If he was to truly become the god of the new world, then he may as well go out and claim the power of one, too. He already had the makings, so all he had to do was go out there and take it. And there was only one place to go if he wanted ultimate power over life and death.

The Shinigami Realm.

He turned his attentions to the ultimate continuity: space-time itself.

“Hey there,” Light said in as dazzling a voice as he could muster without wanting to choke himself. He flashed a bedazzling smile and his teeth sparkled in the sunlight.

Space-time-chan giggled, blushing. Senpai had finally noticed it. Too nervous to return his greeting, Space-time turned away in an attempt to leave the vicinity, tearing a massive hole in itself in the process.

Light stared at the swirling black vortex, his grin widening into something twisted. The door to the Shinigami Realm was wide open, all for him. He raised his yaoi-hands and flapped, immediately becoming airborne. He rose up into the air like an angel of death – an angel of death designed by a moron.

He disappeared into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Light gently floated down to the ground, his hands falling back to his sides. Glancing from side to side, he took in his surroundings. The Shinigami Realm was dark and gloomy to say the least. Dusty and sunless, ground covered by jutting clusters of rib cages and other bones, air permeated with the faint stench of rot and death.

_How generic,_ he thought. If he hadn't known any better, he could have sworn he had accidentally walked onto the set of a zombie movie with a better-than-average budget. It was too-spooky.

Taking slow steps, he started forwards. Now that he was here, he didn't really know where to go, or even where to begin. There was some sort of large object in the distance – made of bone, no doubt – he supposed that was as good a place to start as any. Maybe there would be a shinigami there he could interrogate for directions.

As he trudged on, whirling dust whipping at his face, his grotesque, contorted knuckles dragged the ground, leaving twin trails etched in the sand.

He soon neared the large bone structure. It looked to be a large skull of some sort, littered with cracks. There were many big enough to form doors, so he sidled through one, fracturing off chunks of skull in the process as his hands got stuck in the makeshift doorway.

The commotion had attracted the attention of the skull's inhabitants: three shinigami now had their hollow eyes focused on him. They too seemed to be formed mostly of bones. They each clutched several cards in their skeletal fingers, and sat around a large bowl, a bowl filled with – you guessed it – bones.

Two of the shinigami seemed not to care, turning their attentions back to their gambling, but the first's beady stare remained.

“Is that a... _lifespan?_ ” it croaked with a tired voice. “What's a human doing _here?_ ”

The other two stirred again, looking to the first, then back up at Light.

“He does have a lifespan!” said the second.

“That can't be right!” the third said, turning to the second. “There're no humans here. That is _clearly_ his name.”

The second stared at the third blankly. “Really now? His name? His name is Yagami Light Ninethreethirtyonetwentysixthreenine? And what sort of name is _that?_ ”

“His name, clearly. You don't know where he's from.”

“He's from the human world – _that's_ where he's from!”

The two shinigami then proceeded to beat the shit out of each other. The cards scattered everywhere. The first one loudly sighed.

Light stepped closer to the first shinigami, ready to call on him.

“Light?”

He spun around. There was nothing there. Then he looked up. Above him floated a familiar figure, face of Frankenstein's monster and all. Light's lips curled. “Ryuk?”

Ryuk simply laughed.

“Well, well, well,” he chuckled, “If it isn't old Light. So not even death can hold you back then, can it?”

Light led him out of the big, ugly skull, taking care not to get his hands caught on the door-frame this time. “Gods don't just go and die, now do they?”

They stopped in the middle of the boneyard. Ryuk spoke up again, “So, what are you here for, Light? What are you after?”

“Isn't it obvious? If I'm to truly become god of the new world, then I need more than just the Death Note; I need ultimate power over life and death itself.”

“So you're after the old man now, are you?” Ryuk laughed again. “Have a plan, do you? I don't know whether to say you're arrogant, or just incredibly stupid. Either way, at least it sounds as though it will be...interesting.”

“So, where is this King of the Shinigami?” Light asked.

“Oh, need me to show you the way, do you? Well, I'll help you out this time, Light, even if you don't have an apple on you. You're just lucky you caught me in a good mood.”

Ryuk flew off suddenly.

“H-hey! Wait up!” Light unfurled his yaoi-hands and leapt off into the dark sky after the shinigami.

Ryuk looked over unexpectedly at Light as the human flew up next to him. “By the way Light, what the hell is wrong with your hands? Is that some sort of bizarre new display you humans use now to try and attract a mate? Like instead of those crabs with the big claws, you get big-ass hands?”

“Something like that... Kinda...”

A dark shape appeared on the horizon. Light would have bet his damn life that it was made out of bones of some kind. And as they neared, he was proven right. He was a fucking psychic. It was a castle, or at least an attempt at one. It was made of giant, crisscrossing rib-like structures, overlain with a smaller fleshy-substance that he was willing to bet was somehow also made of bones.

Ryuk flew down and he followed, his arms beating furiously as though he were jerking off two giant dicks. They went down into the nest of bones, landing on the floor, which was of course, covered in bones. There were bones of all kinds and all different sizes, the skulls clearly displaying that a wide variety of animals made up this grim assortment.

Light stepped forward, about to make his way up the – surprise, _STONE_ – steps, when something dark blurred out from the shadows.

A strange-looking shinigami blocked his path, which was really quite the accomplishment, considering all the shinigami were straight up freak-shows. Its head was a gleaming, gold skull, adorned with a dazzling array of gems of all kinds. The crystalline vomit spread all the way down its skeletal body, present even on the scraps of clothing it wore, making it hard to tell what was part of its body and what wasn't. Light wondered if he had just encountered a shinigami pimp.

It began to speak in a decrepit voice, “Who dares to–?”

Light seized the pimpgami with one monstrous hand. “I don't have time for you,” he growled. He crumpled the god of death into a tiny ball and threw it over his shoulder like a balled-up newspaper.

Ryuk stared after it and cackled. “Well, see ya, Armo.”

Light dashed off into the shadows, emerging into the room beyond. It was expansive, clearly designed with the center as focal point in mind. Ribs (what else?) coiled around the edges, gradually increasing in size as they got closer to the throne-like pedestal at the center. It softly became illuminated as he approached, and he could make out four small limbs dangling down from the ceiling.

Light squinted. No, wait... He leapt back and stared up. It wasn't a ceiling at all – it was the Shinigami King's _body_.

The Shinigami King was a massive, bony sphere. His head was a skull, fitted inside of yet another skull. Tiny, when compared to the rest of his body. He was pretty much a giant, ossified boob.

Light frowned. What the hell was with this place and bones? And wow, did he have some _puny_ legs.

The King of Death's piercing, hollow eyes focused onto Light, and he stirred. “What's this?” he roared, and Light could feel it in his very bones. “What is a human doing here?” His gaze darted over Light's shoulder. “Ryuk?”

“Heheh, don't look at me,” Ryuk replied.

“Shinigami King!” Light bellowed, and the King's eyes were back on him. “For many eternities, you have been sovereign master over life and death, but no longer! I, Yagami Light, have come here on this day to take from you what is rightfully mine!”

His hands shot out, curling like claws. And he felt for the lines of fate and continuity that connected to the King of Death. One on each finger, he grasped them and pulled–

But nothing happened.

He gasped, his eyes going wide. _What?_

The Shinigami King gave a deep, throaty laugh, his rotting, bony jaw curling into a wide grin. “How to Use: XXXVI, bitch,” he rumbled, voice like a thunderclap. “Did you really think your lowly _human_ powers would have any effect on something as grand as a shinigami, let alone the _King_ _?_ How arrogant. We are beyond you, mortal.”

Light felt the panic begin to pour into his chest. His heart began to thump as he reached for a way out. Surely there was some way to–

_Yes._

His lips flattened into a line. He pulled.

Continuity fell back into place before his hands. The King furiously glanced around at the disturbance.

The Shinigami King grunted as something smacked him in the side of the face. He looked down at it; it was a green, hard-covered textbook, yellowing pages, several-hundred-pages thick.

“ _This_ is your ability?” he thundered, tone shaking with laughter. “You expect to defeat me with–”

A cascade of textbooks rushed in as the floodgates opened. They smashed into the King of Death and he was soon devoured by the sea of homework; the chains that held him in place groaned, then finally snapped. Freed from his bonds, he began to roll away, now prisoner to the whims of the flow.

Light's twisted grin spread from ear-to-ear. Never did he think his crappy, mile-long pile of homework would actually come in handy.

He sauntered over to the broken chains, and bent down, retrieving the discarded Death Note; it was the _King's_ Death Note.

He wasn't able to effect the shinigami, sure, but there was nothing stating he couldn't do anything to their _Death Notes_. He plucked at the royal Death Note's connections, told continuity to go fuck itself, and made himself the owner.

Light looked at the Shinigami King one last time. He was still rolling around in the forgotten homework, trying to grasp the earth with his tiny legs. Light smiled as he wrote the King's name down in his own damn notebook, then Light stared at his watch. _One, two, three..._

The King of Death rolled onto his side, the broken chains getting caught on the textbooks. _Twenty-two, twenty-three..._

Stilled at last, he got finally got his claws sunk into the ground. His bony head turned up at Light. _Thirty-one..._

Light sprang up and landed next to the giant bony boob. He placed a foot right on his stupid face, then swiftly kicked. The Shinigami King rolled away, spinning like a top. His tiny legs scrambled pathetically at the empty air.

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, _FOURTY!_ ” Light yelled.

The Shinigami King exploded, bits of bone and gristle going everywhere.

Light broke off into a discordant laugh. Clutched between two fingers, he held the Death Note up high as he felt the completion of ownership flowing though his veins, and with it, the _power_.

Forget _L_ , he had just triumphed over the personification of _death itself_. He took his place upon the Shinigami throne, crossing one leg over the other. He placed the royal Death Note on his lap, interlocking his massive yaoi-fingers.

Ryuk hovered over beside him, cackling all the while.

Light could feel it: the change in his eyes, the wings sprouting from his back. He was becoming a true shinigami, but not just _any_ shinigami.

Oh, how far he had come. He was no longer just lowly little _Kira_.

No, far from it.

He was Kira, King of the Gods of Death.

Light smirked.

He was the true god now, and he was going to make all of existence his bitch.


End file.
